


Home Coming

by BeccaFK8



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Not Beta Read, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27574340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeccaFK8/pseuds/BeccaFK8
Summary: All Lord John wanted after a gruesome journey from River Run to Lynchburg was a warm bath and the comfort of his own bed. As is often the case, life had different plans for him.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser & Lord John Grey, Lord John Grey & Brianna Randall Fraser MacKenzie, Lord John Grey & Hal Grey, Lord John Grey & William Ransom
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Home Coming

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely certain as to how this happened, but I may have to get the plot bunnies in my mind neutered...

The three-day journey back to Lynchburg on horseback had John longing for a warm bath and the comfort of his own bed to get rid of the grim of the road and to soothe his sore muscles. He had intended to take care of his trusty stallion first as it was late, and he had been loath to rise the groom from his sleep.

Not wanting to alert anyone to his return as it would only cause a frenzy among his staff who had already retired for the night, he had forgone lightning any of the oil lamps. The waning moon high up in the cloudy sky had barely reached the stables and as he made his way through the darkness, he stumbled over one of the galvanized buckets used to water the horses. Unsurprisingly, he had woken the entire stable – from the mouse family residing in the feed room to the groom living above the bays.

The ginger cat they kept around to keep the vermin at bay had glared at him from its perch on a bale of hay as he had probably chased off its prey, while his groom – still yawning – had seemed close to an apoplexy at the mere idea that his Lordship would take care of his own horse.

While there was not much John could do to appease the cat, he had humoured the groom, despite the fact that he had to bite his tongue or else he might have commented that he had been perfectly capable of looking after his stallion while on the road. He had been alone after all, and unless one of those Scottish fairies Jamie sometimes mentioned would magically appear and do all his work, it had been up to him to ensure the well-being of his horse. Another night of seeing to the black beast’s need would have hardly killed him, but as he did not want to insult his groom he had acceded.

Not without making the young man promise to give the horse a few extra handfuls of oats and carrots, though. A well-deserved gratitude for carrying him back home safely despite the gruelling tempo and long distance.

While John would not have minded spending a little while longer at River Run, he had duties as well as a son to get back to. Ever since Isobel had died on that blasted sea voyage to Jamaica, William had – understandably – been a bit clingy and John tried to take the boy with him whenever he was gone for longer periods of time. Regardless of the outcry it caused among his family who believed a stable home in London was much better suited for a young earl than constant travels let alone a life among savages in the Colonies. But John had always found pleasure in pushing the boundaries of noble society, hence why William had been with him in Lynchburg since autumn 1868.

When Jamie’s letter had reached him almost two months ago, asking if he could look in on his daughter, he had not intended to be away for more than a couple of days. Check in on Brianna and offer the girl a place at his home in Virginia should she be unhappy at her aunt’s.

John had certainly not expected to be gone for almost a month let alone return an engaged man. The latter was still a topic that kept him awake at night and while he was no religious man per se, he could only pray that his faith in Claire and Jamie’s successful return with Rodger would pay off, as breaking the news about his sudden engagement to his friends would certainly be more than awkward.

In addition, there would be the issue of Brianna’s relation to William. His fiancée was after all his son’s half-sister.

_“Talk about complicated family relations,”_ John thought and pinched the bridge of his nose before shaking his head in fond exasperation, as he had long come to accept that rarely anything was ever easy where a stubborn, red-headed Fraser was involved.

As he climbed the ornate stairs to the front entrance of the main house, he took note of the many illuminated windows at this late hour. The house was usually asleep at this time, which meant something had to have happened for the staff to be still up and buzzing around like busy bees. Bracing himself for the worst – which generally equalled to William getting into trouble these days – he entered his home and was welcomed by his butler who informed him that Lord Melton had arrived earlier in the evening and was currently in the salon.

Quickly deciding that an unannounced visit from Hal most certainly topped anything an eleven-year-old boy could throw at him, he inquired after his son’s well-being and was relieved to hear that William had retired for the night more than four hours ago and had been well-behaved during his absence.

If questioned, John would be the first to admit that the boy was spoilt. The Dunsanys had showered the child with both affection and presents, never setting down any ground rules. His late wife had always been a gentle soul, part of the reason why he had enjoyed her company all these years. Feeling sorry for her orphaned nephew she had doted on him and was more often than not inclined to turn a blind eye on issues when a stern word would have been more appropriate. That being said, John was about as guilty for spoiling the child as any other relatives of his. Little Willie had been heartbroken over Mac’s departure from Helwater, so John had reasoned with himself that it would not do the boy any good to be punished for acting out when he was still grieving. After Isobel’s death on the sea voyage to Jamaica, John had continued that line of reasoning. But the longer he found himself in the role of a single parent, he had to concede that a stricter hand in the boy’s upbringing might be necessary.

After their arrival in the Colonies and finding himself interviewing governesses for the third time in four months, John had drawn the line.

The previous governess had taken a hasty retreat from Lynchburg after William had found a common water snake near the pond in the gardens and thought it hilarious to hide it in the governess’ chamber. Needless to say, the poor woman had been scared out of her wits when she had retired for the night only to find a four feet long snake underneath her bedsheets. Common water snakes were thankfully non-poisonous, but they still bit when frightened. As with any injury, a bite wound could become infectious and may cause the loss of a limb if not life.

John had been livid when he had been informed of the incident and he was certain that any of his older brothers would have long reached for the belt to punish the child. The thought had crossed his mind for a second, but he had always questioned the usefulness of corporal punishment. Even as Governor of Adrsmuir flogging had been his last resort to ascertain power.

With William, he wanted the boy to understand the possible consequences his prank could have had. Words had seemed more useful for that endeavour than a belt. Thankfully the boy had recognised the dire effects his prank could have had and while John had refrained from corporal punishment, he still figured that some sort of reprimand would stay with his son longer than just his words. After careful consideration, William had been banned from the stables and his beloved horses for seven days. In hindsight, it was more of a punishment for John himself because he had been blessed with a very good imitation of Fraser-sulkiness for the duration of the week.

Needless to say, William still tested the waters every chance he got, but he had been quick to realise that no amount of pleading nor any temper tantrums would change his Papa’s mind and thankfully John had not had reason to ground him again since the incident with water snake – though there had been plenty of times when members of his staff had got a few days of sudden leave because William had been tasked with their chores when he had defied the rules.

Consequently, John could not help but to feel pleased – and maybe gloat just a little bit – that his son had been so well-behaved in his absence and that he was apparently still in possession of a governess. Who knew that finding a new governess was about as much of a dreaded obligation as attending social gatherings as the sole eligible bachelor in a mob of young, unmarried ladies?

“Samuel, if any of the maids are still up, can you ask them to get the bathtub ready for me? I need to get the grime of the road off of me.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Acknowledging his butler’s bow with a slight nod of his head, John divested himself of his tricorne and overcoat as well as his sword, before proceeding to the salon. For the most part, his late wife’s estate still looked the same as it probably did when she had inherited it from her grandfather. She had visited it once in her younger years and had always spoken fondly about it to John. Hence why he had never found the heart to change much about the rooms ever since William and his arrival.

The small salon, the first room to the right when one entered the foyer, always reminded him the most of Isobel. Shelves as high as the ceiling filled with books, a hearth with two comfortable armchairs in front of it, and large windows overlooking the gardens. John’s only addition to the room had been a chess set where he would teach William as well as a small bar for a glass of brandy when he spent his evening reading in front of the fire, unwinding from a tiring day.

The scarce interior design plans John had had for the room, never factored in his older brother lounging in one of the chairs near the fireplace, absentmindedly sipping some brown alcoholic beverage, while his attention was focused on the open book in his lap. Some childish part of John hoped Samuel had given Hal some of Jamie’s so-called whisky. It had obviously been a friendly jest when shortly after his move to Lynchburg a small crate filled with five bottles and a short note had arrived for him.

_“Drink it, don’t sniff it, John. – JF”_

Seeing as Hal did – unfortunately – not break into violent coughing fits because the alcohol burned his throat, it was more likely Samuel had poured him either brandy or rum. John just hoped it was not one of the good bottles he had acquired during his time as Governor of Jamaica.

Before he had the chance to announce his presence, his brother closed the book with a loud snap and put both the tome as well as his glass on a nearby side table. Hal had always been very perceptive of his environment and while it was a good quality for any officer in the British Army, it was a pain in the arse if you were his little brother.

“How good of you to finally grace me with your company, Johnny,” the older of the Grey brothers drawled as he rose from his seat to his full height and turned towards his younger brother only to wrinkle his nose in non-disguised disgust because John’s hair had come loose from the ribbon he had tight it back with and several strands had been plastered to his face ever since he had been hit by rain around noon. He was also certain he had smeared mud over his left cheek at one point and no matter the amount of rubbing, remnants of the streak were still clinging to his pale skin. Not bothering to change his clothes while he had been on the road, John wore the same dark suit he had donned when he had departed River Run. Except now it was wrinkled and sweaty, and if Tom Byrd could see him at this very moment, the boy would be most displeased with him. His overcoat had thankfully protected his clothes from getting speckled in mud, but the same could not be said for the grey gaiters he still wore. They were in dire need of a good cleaning. As were his shoes.

“I was not aware you were in the Colonies,” John replied and smoothed out a wrinkle in his waistcoat as he walked over to the globe bar pouring himself a glass of whisky – a lovely smoky blend from Mortlach, not Jamie’s witches’ brew.

“I sent you a letter in December that I would likely be sailing to the colonies in spring,” Hal explained and now that John thought about it, there had been a message from his older brother mixed in with the season’s greetings from their mother. Chances were that he had quickly skimmed through it and then put it on top of the ever-growing pile of papers on his desk that he had mentally labelled as _‘Unimportant!’_ – capital U and an exclamation mark at the end. “I also sent you a note a fortnight ago that I was on my way to Philadelphia and would stop by Lynchburg first.”

Well, that explained why he had been clueless about his brother’s visit as it was obviously impossible to read any messages that arrived for him at Lynchburg while he was at River Run, a good hundred miles further south. That being said, he had read an article in the Scots Magazine several years ago, suggesting an electrostatic telegraph – a device that would allow for almost instantaneous communications between two parties who were miles apart. While he would welcome such an invention for more frequent communications with Jamie, he dreaded the number of messages his brother would send him. _“It is probably for the best if we continue to rely on messengers.”_

“What brings you to the Colonies?”

“I have business to attend to with Sir Clinton—”

“—doesn’t sound familiar,” John muttered after a moment of contemplation. Then again, if Clinton was in Philadelphia it was not surprising that he had not made the man’s acquaintance. Due to his ties with Lord Tyron, he usually found himself more often in the south than in the north.

“— and I wanted to check in on Benjamin.”

“Give the boy my best,” John requested which caused Hal to incline his head in acknowledgment before he continued to list his reasons for the long journey to America. “— and Mother asked me to inform you that she shall send young Katherine Beaumont to Lynchburg if you insist on continuing your bachelor life in the colonies. She would – apparently – make a fine wife.”

John knew it was a mistake to nip his whisky while conversing with his brother as he choked on his last sip when Hal relayed their mother’s intention. He was tempted to utter a ‘what the fuck’, a curious expression he had heard from both Claire and Brianna multiple times and was apparently a Bostonian colloquialism for ‘what the hell’ with a bit more force behind it. Definitely a fitting exclamation for the moment, but most of it was drowned out by his coughing. Much to John’s chagrin, his plight only caused his brother to cock an eyebrow in amusement.

“Where would Mother get that idea from?” he finally asked once he was no longer hacking out his lungs but set aside his glass of whisky as he had a feeling that this was a conversation he had to be sober for.

“The grieving period has long passed, and it is unheard of that a man of your status would raise a child on his own.”

“I have a governess,” John argued, but as so often in conversations with Hal, his older brother had already made up his mind and their dialogue was merely a disguise for his new orders – so to speak. His objection was, of course, ignored and not for the first time in his life John felt reminded of that night when Hal had informed him about his posting as Governor of Ardsmuir Prison. A respectable position of power for a young major in the service of His Majesty, but in truth, it had been an unsuspicious way to remove him from society to scotch any rumours about his association with George Everett.

“Johnny, I am well aware that women are not exactly—” Hal cleared his throat, never finishing his sentence, but the implication hang heavy between them. “But you made it work with Isobel, so surely, you can make it work with the young Lady Beaumont as well.” Hal continued his praises on the woman about whose family John had never heard anything before. If the situation was not so frustrating he would have doubled over in laughter.

Not for the first time in his life did he feel the incredible urge to scream at the world for the immense injustice he had been straddled with. If he could find pleasure in the female flesh he would certainly seek it out, but he was drawn to his own sex instead. Branded a sodomist should anyone ever find out and report him. Flogged if not hanged by the law, burning in Hell for his carnal sins according to the Church.

Hal might have been appeased by his marriage to Isobel, but it had been a truly selfish act spurred only by the knowledge that he could spend more time at Helwater with Jamie if he wed Dunsany’s younger daughter.

“I’m afraid there’s just one problem, brother dear,” John interrupted and could not help the smirk that was threatening to tug on the corners of his mouth. “I am already engaged.” He would have to find a way to thank Brianna if her little gamble to protect herself and her unborn child should end up saving him from an unwanted marriage as well. Oh, who was he kidding, it was already worth it just to see Hal spluttering in disbelief.

“Engaged? To a woman!”

Why was it that the few men who had learned of his preferences always acted so surprised when he announced an engagement? It was not like the Church or the law would permit him to marry a man.

“Last I checked that was the only option to be wed, Hal,” John commented drily, hard-pressed to keep the cheek at bay. Even in his early forties, he found immense pleasure in riling up his older brother, while a small voice in the very back of his mind kept suggesting that there was a good chance that William’s impertinence may not entirely be Jamie’s fault but that the boy was merely coping his own behaviour.

“So, do pray tell, who is the woman you have decided to marry?”

“She is the niece of an influential plantage owner in North Carolina. Mistress Cameron. You may have heard of her.” John highly doubted that that was the case. After all, the mistress was of Scottish descent and one of Jamie’s relatives. Not exactly the social circles Hal usually run in.

“Can’t say that I have…”

“Mistress Cameron was looking for a suitable husband for her niece and invited me to meet her. As chance would have it, I found her— most agreeable.” Clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest as he met Hal’s gaze, John could tell that he was trying to figure out whether he was speaking the truth of if he had made up a fake fiancée on the spot to escape Beaumont.

_“Now that’s an idea!”_ There was a certain cheekiness to Jamie’s daughter that made John almost certain she would find it hilarious to play his fake wife on occasion just to make a fool of society. A topic he might breach with her and her hopefully future husband should the need ever arise for such drastic measures.

“And what would be the name of the girl. I am certain Mother would like to make a few inquiries about her— pedigree.”

“Brianna Fraser.” How John wished there was a painter present to take an instant sketch of his brother to immortalize the way his eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, the blood rushed to his face, and how that vein on his left temple started to pop out. The latter in particular was always a sure indicator that he was about to go off like a canon whose fuse cord had been ignited.

“Fraser?!” Hal was too much of a gentleman to raise his voice on most occasions, but since their father’s death, John had always been the exception to that particular rule. Especially when he had managed to disappoint the older Grey brother once again. “Oh for God’s sake, Johnny! Why do have to insist on mingling with that— family? Wasn’t it enough that you adopted that traitor’s bastard son?”

John caught his breath upon hearing Hal’s accusation as the truth about William’s parentage was a well-guarded secret very few people were privy to. He could trust Jamie and Claire to keep schtum on the matter in order to protect the boy’s status and inheritance, but his older brother had the capability to destroy William’s life before he hardly had any chance to live it. Something John was determined to prevent.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he feigned ignorance, telling himself not to fall for the bait, all the while feeling the blood rush to his own head, his heartbeat reverberating throughout his entire body in anger like the steady beat of the war drums those savages would sometimes play. Not that he had ever heard them, but Jamie had described them in his letters. 

“Don’t take me for an idiot, Johnny. Every fool with a set of good, working eyes can tell that William is not the offspring of Ludovic Ransom. If he started spouting that vulgar Scottish dialect, no one would be able to tell the difference between traitor and bastard.”

It should not have surprised John that Hal added insult to injury, but it was like a slap in the face nonetheless.

His first instinct was to lash out at his brother in order to defend both Jamie and William’s honour, but things would only escalate between them if he stooped down to Hal’s level. Besides, why should he even be bothered by such narrowminded opinions? All that mattered was that he knew that James Fraser was a good and honourable man whom he trusted with his life. As for William’s parentage… He loved the boy as if he were his own, regardless of the circumstances of his conception or any titles he would inherit. And if the truth should ever see the light of the day and William would lose his inheritance, John would still love his son from the bottom of his heart.

“I am only going to tell you this once, Harold.” His voice was measured but insistent as he stepped up to his older brother who was towering over him, jaws grinding, and hands balled into tight fists to allow the anger to drain from his body. “You are in my house and this is my son you are talking about. So, unless you want to journey into the city in the middle of the night in search of accommodation, I suggest you watch your mouth very carefully.”

As he stepped past Hal, he intentionally let his shoulder bump into him – a power move he greatly despised as too many men had done the same to him in his youth when he had always been the smallest with the most delicate features. It was the male equivalent of bulls posturing and locking horns to ascertain their dominance in John’s opinion, but despite the crudeness of the action, he needed his brother to yield at this moment.

He knew he had won the instant Hal addressed him by his given name and not the childish nickname he usually insisted on.

“John… Why did you agree to marry the girl?” The quiet question sounded surprisingly genuine and stood in stark contrast to the harsh words he had spoken just a minute ago. Not bothering to turn around to face his brother, John squared his shoulders and replied solemnly, “For her protection. And my name and title can offer her just that.”

“Why do you always have to walk the path of trial and tribulation, John…?” It was a rhetorical question, but as John pushed open the wooden double door he answered nonetheless. His words laced with decades of exhaustion over hiding his true nature from everyone, fighting for approval and acceptance from those closest to him. “It is not by choice, Hal.”

Finally turning around, he gave his brother a short nod, for the first time seeing the tiredness and the worry in the older Grey’s features since the beginning of their conversation. Deep down John knew that many of his brother’s decisions had been spurred by the need to protect him – shelter his baby brother from public disgrace as well as the likely fatal consequences his preferences would have should anyone ever disclose them. Under different circumstances, he might have sought additional talks with his brother, but he was drained, both physically and mentally.

Bidding Hal goodnight, he stepped out of the salon, discreetly brushing his hands over his eyes before he hurried towards the sweeping staircase, where Samuel was already waiting for him to inform him of the hot bath that was waiting for him in his chambers.

“Thank you, Samuel.” John offered him a grateful smile and told the man that the entire staff was welcome to retire for the night and did not need to stay up for his sake or his brother’s. Hal was a grown-up man, he could figure out how to light an oil lamp or find a snack in the kitchen should he feel peckish. Satisfied that his people would not be slave-driven by his brother’s selfishness, he was finally – _Finally!_ – able to head upstairs and get that bath and the comfy bed he had been longing for pretty much all day.

❈ ❈ ❈

When John reached the landing of the first floor, he caught sight of the door to William’s bed-chamber closing from the corner of his eyes. Cocking an eyebrow in a mix of confusion and amusement, he called his son’s name, and not even a second later the door that had never been properly closed, merely left ajar, was thrown open again. It hit the panelled wall with a bang that would have woken the house had it not already been up, before the boy came running towards him barefoot and in his shift, flinging himself at him.

“Papa!”

The air was knocked out of John and he had to take a step back to absorb William’s momentum. Thankfully, he had stepped away from the landing or they might have tumbled down the stairs under the curious eyes of the older Grey brother who had hurried out of the salon when he had heard the bang. But just like the butler, he had stopped in his tracks when William had run towards his father with stomping footsteps. Unbeknownst to John, they watched on as the boy jumped up and wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist before he had been able to reciprocate the hug.

Groaning histrionically under the sudden added weight of an adolescent boy clinging to him, John held onto him, feeling the last bit of tension from his fight with Hal melting from him like snow on a warm February afternoon. It was easy to hold back any comments that William was surely too old to be carried like this as the boy had recently entered a phase where he loathed any public display of affection from his parent, stating that he was no longer a little child. While John would never show it on the outside, it did sting, and as a result, he would cherish every hug William was willing to give.

“I take it, I was missed?” he chuckled quietly as he made his way towards his son’s bed-chamber. For a moment, he allowed himself to indulge his own sentiments and pressed his nose into the unruly mob of reddish hair, inhaling the clean scent he had come to associate with the child. While John had enjoyed his time with Brianna at River Run, he had also longed to see his son – the main reason why he had spurred on his stallion and reduced a comfortable four- to five-day journey into three days. The social obligations that had called for his return to Virginia could easily be held off for a few more days.

“Very much, Papa!”

“But shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I heard voices…” William mumbled into his father’s neckerchief before inquiring after the reasons that had caused his uncle to raise his voice.

Stepping over a wooden sword on the ground, John had finally made it to the bed and with a sigh, he let himself drop onto the edge of the mattress, while the boy still clung to him like a little monkey. Almost as if he wanted to ensure he would not leave without him anytime soon. Not an unreasonable motivation if one asked John as he felt similar and unconsciously tightened his grip on his son.

“Because my brother can be a bigoted idiot,” he answered William’s question and could only hope that Hal’s exact words had not been carried all the way upstairs. It was bad enough if any of the servants had overheard them. “Now—” John gave him the softest of a slap on the bottom – a gentle prompt to let go of him and to get into bed that never carried any intention to sting. “Time for you to get back to sleep. I’ll still be here in the morning.” Of course, stubborn as William could be, he completely ignored his father’s demand and only loosened his grip on his neck to the extent that he could meet his gaze in the dim light of the night light the governess always left burning for him on the nightstand.

“Did you hand my letters to Mister and Mistress Fraser?”

“I’m afraid, they had not yet returned by the time I left River Run. Their daughter Brianna will hand them to them.” John had been slightly surprised when William had handed him two letters for his friends when he had left Lynchburg. While he was curious about what his son might have written, they were sealed, and he had been loath to break them open just to satisfy his inquisitive nature. He could always inquire about them in his next message for Jamie.

“What’s she like? I never met her, when we visited Fraser’s Ridge last autumn…”

“Very much like her parents. I am sure you would find her company most agreeable, particularly her penchant for adventures.” And John had no doubt that Brianna would take one look at William before dragging him off to another room, badgering him with questions regarding the boy’s parentage. She was after all her mother’s daughter – just as perceptive with the same lack of circumspection and circuitousness. It was dreadful!

“You had adventures without me?”

“Next time we will halt all exciting ventures, sent a messenger for you, and await your prompt arrival.” John was met with an exaggerated eye-roll and an indignant whine when he extracted himself from his son and rose to his feet. “But those are stories for a new day. Now it’s time that you get back to sleep!” _“And I to my tub of hot water,”_ John added in his mind, although he was certain that the water would be lukewarm at best by now. Still better than the chilly creek where he had had a catlick on the second day of his journey.

“But… Papa!” The biggest pout the boy could manage grazed his features as he drew out each syllable.

“In the morning.”

“One story. Please!” John had never thought it possible to add so many additional vowels to ‘please’ but William was doing a very good job in disabusing him from that misconception. Both his brothers and the Governess would probably tell him to ignore the childish pleading and simply leave the room. The boy would come to his senses and fall asleep sooner or later. That being said, John was well-acquainted with that educational method, especially since Hal tried to use it on him to this day when he did not want to argue over a valid point with him. As a result, he was overly familiar with how inconsequential it could make one’s own emotions seem. Something he tried to spare his son from to the best of his abilities. He wanted him to know that his thoughts and feelings mattered to him. Even if it meant bargaining with an eleven-year-old in the middle of the night and resigning himself to a tub of cold water. _“Still warmer than the creek…”_

“Alright, here’s the deal, William,” John cut through the whining. “One story and then you’re off to bed.” His suggestion was received with vigorous nodding and the child scrambled underneath the duvet almost instantaneously, flopping back into the down pillows and looking up at him expectantly.

Heaving a defeated sigh, John sat back down on the edge of the mattress, and after a moment of contemplation, he decided he could at least be comfortable if he was spending longer than expected in his son’s room. With practised ease, he removed his muddied shoes and gaiters, simply leaving them on the floor. They were joined by his coat, waistcoat, and neckerchief, while the knife he always carried on his person was put on the nightstand. Freed from any constricting garments, he got comfortable on top of William’s blanket and shoved one pillow behind his back as he leaned against the headboard.

Only to be poked by something hard.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, John reached behind him searching for the offensive object, and from the folds of the pillow, he pulled free the wooden snake Jamie had once carved for William. With a small smile, he handed the toy to his son who was quick to shove it underneath the other pillow before he came to rest his head on his father’s thigh, while one arm wrapped around his waist.

John had not seen that particular snake since Jamaica when the boy had claimed he was too old for toys. But once they had moved to Lynchburg after their stop at Fraser’s Ridge last autumn, he had suddenly been very adamant to find the snake in the many wooden crates John had shipped over from England. By the time William had finally found it – at the bottom of a box intended to be stored away unopened – his entire household had exploded over the ground floor.

Making a mental note to let his best friend know that the snake had apparently become a trusted sleeping companion, John’s right hand came to rest on his son’s head, his fingers gently combing through the curls. Finally able to unwind from the gruesome journey back home as well as Hal’s unexpected descend upon his home, he could feel a bone-deep tiredness taking hold of both his mind and body. Suppressing a yawn, John could only hope to make it through the promised bedtime story without falling asleep before William.

“Alright… an adventure with Miss Fraser,” he contemplated out loud and after a moment of hesitation, he settled on Brianna’s rather unusual request to visit Stephen Bonnet in prison. For his son’s sake, he blanched over some of the facts but could not help the proud smile tugging at his lips, when William declared furiously that no man of honour would ever hurt a weaker person – man or woman alike. The boy might be hot-headed and spoiled, but his heart was in the right place when it counted. 

❈ ❈ ❈

Sometime during the story when Fergus had come to free Murtagh, first William then John had drifted off into a deep slumber. They were still fast asleep with John’s body wrapped protectively around his son when the Governess entered the bed-chamber the next morning to wake the young Master. Despite her usual strictness with the boy, she let both of them sleep, deciding that the boy had earned some quality time with his father. While he had been well-behaved most of the time, it had been evident that he had missed his Lordship dearly.

Leaving the curtains closed, the Governess merely doused the night lights and tutted underneath her breath when she noticed his Lordship’s clothes carelessly strewn on the floor on one side of the bed and the young Master’s on the other side. “Like father, like son,” she sighed underneath her breath as she collected the dirty garments and quietly closed the door behind herself, before heading towards the washkitchen.


End file.
